


Tulips

by kittensmctavish



Category: Buzzfeed Tasty: Eating Your Feed (Web Series), Buzzfeed: Worth It (Web Series)
Genre: Awkward Dates, Crushes, Dessert & Sweets, Don't copy to another site, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Dates, First Kiss, Flirting, Fluff, Food, Holding Hands, Restaurants, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Wine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-30
Updated: 2019-03-30
Packaged: 2019-12-26 15:05:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18284726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittensmctavish/pseuds/kittensmctavish
Summary: It's not exactly how Andrew expects the night to go, but he's glad it turned out the way it did.





	Tulips

**Author's Note:**

> so work reduced my brain to soup, but rarebuzzships over on tumblr was holding an andrew week, and there were hardly any submissions (at least, that was the case this morning before i left for work.) so in less than 24 hours, my soupy brain came up with this cliche-filled nonsense.
> 
> note: the ceviche described in this fic is based on an actual dish from an actual restaurant i've actually been to, and i still dream about it. it's SO good, y'all.
> 
> (also, i dunno why i chose the title, tulips hardly factor into the story, i'm garbage with titles.)

To Andrew’s credit, it only takes him about ten minutes to realize he’s been stood up.

Of course, the message he gets via Tinder of his expected date having “an emergency come up” helps. And the other message that shortly follows (from the same expected date, mind you) saying something about “having a laugh” about “standing up some nerd”—clearly meant for someone else—also helps.

…that last one doesn’t HELP, but the point stands; he’s been stood up. Honestly, he’s not that sad, mad, or sad-mad about it. That said, he sends a brief terse response that amounts to “no, you go fuck YOURself” but more polite before he closes the app.

Yeah, Tinder might work for some people, but he figures there are better ways of trying to get over a hopeless crush that dating apps. Actually, what he was doing before about said hopeless crush was working quite well. (That being, stifle Stifle STIFLE those feelings and try to live in denial.)

Still…

Andrew looks at, and picks up, the single tulip he’d brought with him, twirls the stem around gently in his hand. He’d been willing to give it a shot at least.

He catches the waiter as they’re passing by.

“Hey, so…my date’s not coming, so I’m gonna duck out and open this table up for someone else who’ll enjoy the ambience more,” he says, taking out his wallet as he talks. “I know I didn’t actually order anything and only drank water, but…here.” He hands the waiter a few bills that amount to what is probably more than a generous tip, even if he HAD ordered anything, and offers another apologetic smile-grimace hybrid before taking his flower and his leave.

Kind of a shame, too. This restaurant is fairly new. He’s read good things about it, and the menu looked promising. But he’s not in a mood where he could enjoy anything even if he wanted to. So he’ll wait for another time.

At least, that is his intent as he makes for the entrance/exit, stopping to look around, glancing over at the bar…

…and spotting a familiar figure. And another not-familiar-at-all figure.

Annie is sitting at the bar, fiddling with a cocktail napkin as some guy (Andrew has no idea who) leans against the bar and talks to her. From the way she’s leaning back in her chair to the pained but polite smile on her face to the way the guy keeps leaning closer into her space, she does not know this guy and doesn’t WANT to know him.

It doesn’t take him long to decide he’s going to do something about it. (It’s something he would do for any friend in a similar situation.) (The fact that it’s happening to the friend who also happens to be the person he has said aforementioned hopeless crush on is just another deciding factor.) (But also, guys at bars who can’t take a hint can, like his failed Tinder date, fuck RIGHT off.)

So he straightens out his blazer before he walks over, putting those “I used to act for Buzzfeed” skills to use and picking up his step a little as he walks over to Annie, putting on the role of “late and apologetic significant other”.

“Hey,” he says, getting her attention before he slides into the seat next to her, leaning over to press a quick kiss to her cheek. “So sorry I’m late, traffic was a nightmare.”

“Oh!” Is she playing along? Is it an “oh!” of surprise from the fact that Andrew just kissed her cheek? A little of column A, a little of column B, probably. “That’s okay. Glad you’re here now.” Her smile is both fond and grateful. And breathtaking, as always. It’s so easy to return such a smile.

“Will this make up for it?” he asks, handing her the tulip. She glances back and forth between him and the flower, and she’s probably wondering why he even had that on him. But she recovers and reaches for it, her fingertips brushing against his.

“It might,” she teases, bringing it to her nose to take a sniff. Her smile this time is smaller, shier, still slightly surprised.

It’s only now that he glances up at Creeper McLeansInTooMuch and lets his smile falls into something more resembling feigned politeness. Maybe a tinge of “and who the hell are YOU?” as well.

“Oh…sorry…i didn’t know…” the guy mumbles, pointing in an exiting-type direction. “I’ll just…sorry.” He walks away, looking more and more miffed as he does.

“Oh my god, thank you,” Annie sighs once the guy is out of earshot. “Thank you SO much.”

“Not a problem,” Andrew says. “I hate guys like that.” Annie pushes her hair back and lets out a little relieved laugh. “Also, um…sorry for kissing you on the cheek without asking or giving you much warning…or any warning, really.”

“You’re fine,” she says, waving the apology away. “But again, thank you.” Andrew nods.

“So…I should probably go…” he says, shifting to stand from the bar seat. “Let you get back to your night.” He’s about to say his goodbyes when Annie takes hold of the sleeve of his blazer.

“Actually…would you mind sticking around?” she asks quietly. “Just in case that guy comes back…or is, like, hiding in a different part of the restaurant.” Annie looks down and suddenly drops her hold on his sleeve, face tinged with a bit of embarrassment. “I mean, if you have someplace to be, I won’t stop you, but—”

Andrew’s already sitting back down next to her.

“Nowhere else I’d rather be,” he says. Because as much as this wasn’t how he intended or expected the night to go, it’s the truth. She smiles and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Than with your fake girlfriend?” Annie jokes. “On a fake date?”

“Better than the alternative,” he says with a shrug.

“Which is?”

He pauses before answering. Then he reaches for the menu standing between them on the bar.

“Before we get into that, should we order something to drink?” he offers. “I get the feeling that’s why you were here in the first place.”

“Oh,” she blinks, then nods. “Yes. It was.”

So they shift their chairs a little closer together to look over the menu together, Annie’s shoulder nudging against his every now and again. Sometimes, she leans in close enough that Andrew can catch a hint of her perfume, something warm and flowery with just a hint of spice to it. They both order a glass of wine, as well as a ceviche dish that Andrew read about in a review for the place and has been dying to try ever since.

The wine comes first. Andrew’s gone with a white that will apparently pair well with the ceviche. Light, crisp, sweet. What Annie orders probably won’t go as well with the ceviche, she admits, but it’s what she came here for: a glass of her favorite more-on-the-expensive-side red.

Her first sip is taken slowly, with closed eyes and an audible sigh of contentment.

“GOD, that’s so good,” she almost moans. Andrew tries to stifle a laugh. “Sorry. It’s just…”

“Do you and the wine need a moment?” Andrew can’t help but joke. Thankfully, Annie laughs along with it.

“I mean, it is a pretty sexy wine,” she admits. She seems to think for a moment before tilting her glass to him. It takes him a second to realize she’s offering him a sip. He carefully takes the glass and raises it to his lips, breathing in the aroma before taking a sip.

“…oh wow.”

“Right?”

“That IS sexy.”

“Shut up.”

It’s only fair that he offers her a sip of his wine in return.

“Oh wow,” she says, a very different “oh wow” than his. “I could drink, like, three of those and not bat an eye.” She’s not wrong. It’s a very easy wine to drink.

As they sip their wine and wait for the food, Andrew tells Annie about his failed date, shows her the message that hadn’t been meant for him because it’s easier than saying it out loud. He would laugh at the look of offense on her face if the whole thing wasn’t still so fresh.

“Wow,” Annie says, handing his phone back to him. “What a horrible woman.” Andrew shrugs. “Kind of explains some things, though.”

“Like?” Andrew says, motioning for her to continue, picking up his glass of wine and preparing to take a sip as he listens to her explanation.

“Well…you look nice,” Annie says, gesturing towards his person. “The blazer and the button-up…very spiffy.” Andrew snorts at her use of the word “spiffy”. He then takes a moment to look at what she’s wearing (in the least creepiest manner he can muster). And…well, she’s always lovely, regardless of what she’s wearing. But tonight, she’s in a black dress with…it’s either a boat or a Bardot neckline, he can’t remember which, but one that leaves her shoulders bare…and now that he’s really noticed it, it’s gonna drive him crazy the rest of the night.

“You too,” he says brilliantly. She giggles regardless.

“I look spiffy?” she teases.

“You look…” He SHOULD say what she said, which was “nice”. What does he actually say? “Beautiful.”

He regrets it for maybe half a second. The half a second before she’s looking down with a blush and a bashful smile.

“Thank you…” she says, picking up her glass and taking a sip. “Sweet-talker.”

Well…it’s less sweet-talking and more the truth, but before he can relay as much, she lifts the tulip into his line of sight.

“Between that and this,” she says, meaning the tulip, “you’re one hell of a good first date.”

“I was always taught to a: be a gentleman and b: make a good first impression.” Annie rests her head on her folded hand.

“Bet you take a girl’s jacket and pull her chair out for her and everything,” she teases. “Walk her up to her doorstep, wait for her to get inside before you drive off.”

“Maybe.”

“I mean, I wouldn’t know. You were late to our fake date. As your fake girlfriend, I’m a little offended.”

“But I was stuck in fake traffic.”

“Suuuure.” The word trails off in a giggle that’s endearing and contagious.

He’s not sure if her teasing is just a result of the wine loosening her up or if she’s genuinely flirting with him.

“I do apologize again for being late for our fake date,” Andrew says, still playing along, maybe leaning in slightly. “Any way I can make it up to you?”

She bites her lip as she stares at him and thinks. He tries not to stare at her lips as she does, instead meeting her eyes, the little twinkle in them, waiting for her answer…

…instead, the moment is interrupted by the clink of a plate against the bar. The ceviche has arrived.

Andrew lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, looks up at the waiter and thanks him. Annie, now sitting up straight,

The ceviche looks just as good as, if not better than, the picture from the review—a mix of diced shrimp and octopus with slices of radish and chunks of avocado, with a stack of freshly made chips piled on the side. Annie pushes the plate towards him. Because he was the one who was excited for it, he can have the first bite. He stacks some ceviche on to a chip with his fork and, as best he can, takes a bite while trying to not look like a pig doing so.

He takes a moment to chew before he covers his mouth with his hand to mutter an “oh my GOD”, much to Annie’s amusement.

It’s REALLY good. Super fresh and light and one of those dishes where every component works beautifully together. He pushes the plate back towards Annie, so she can try it before he continues.

Her bite looks more graceful than his felt. But she nods her head in agreement, covering her own mouth as she chews.

“Thought for a second you were gonna feed me a bite,” she says after she swallows. "Given that’s kinda your thing at work.”

He’s not quite sure if that’s her way of saying she was HOPING he would, or if she’s just joking. Regardless…

“…I mean, I can, if you want,” he offers with a casual shrug, scooping a bit of ceviche on to a bite-sized chip. She pauses for a moment before she nods.

He leans over, cupping his hand underneath the chip as he brings it towards Annie. She leans in, opening her mouth for the incoming bite.

It’s…definitely not like feeding Steven, or Adam, or her, or anyone else, for that matter, for “Worth It”. Probably because, nine and a half times out of ten, utensils are involved there. Here, it’s more…intimate. Because he’s actually holding the food itself; the chip is the utensil for the ceviche.

So because of that, it’s probably why the tip of his thumb accidentally brushes against her lips when she takes the bite he offers her. Runs the risk of being sucked into her mouth.

He can’t tell which withdraw is quicker—her backing away or him pulling his hand back. Regardless, there’s a little bit of an awkward silence before they both murmur a “sorry”.

(Even though he’s less sorry and more…incredibly flustered.)

The awkwardness, thankfully, doesn’t last too long. The ceviche is just too good not to share thoughts about it between them. Annie’s wondering if doing an episode on ceviche would be possible, if only for this to be one of the options. Andrew’s in full agreement, and will try to make it happen.

When the ceviche is gone, and their wine glasses nearly empty, the offer of a dessert menu is made to them. A fancy dessert being one of the sole reasons Annie came here tonight, their answer is of course.

Of the few fancy desserts there are to choose between, Annie opts for a more simple fanciness in a classic crème brûlée.

There are certain dishes that, even if they’re pretty standard fare, she will ALWAYS order, and subsequently judge the restaurant on, based on how well they execute said dish. Crème brûlée is one of those dishes.

But also, it’s just a satisfying dessert in several respects, one of those being cracking the sugary shell. Andrew watches her run her spoon over the shell with a soft scrape, before she tap-tap-taps her spoon, lightly at first, then hard enough to crack it, a smile lighting up her face as she digs through the shards of burnt sugar to the cream beneath.

She closes her eyes in bliss with her mouth around her first bite.

“Yeah, they do it RIGHT here…” It’s another half-moaned sentence he heard earlier this night re: her wine.

He’s about to reach for his own spoon to taste it, but pauses when she scoops custard and a sugar shard on to her own spoon and holds it out to him.

“And the one who feeds is now the one who is fed.” There’s a twinkle to her eye as she says it. And what can he do but lean in and accept her offering.

(They DO do crème brûlée right here, she’s spot on about that.)

When they reach the end of the dessert, Annie scraping up vanilla beans into custard, the bartender asks if there will be anything else, or if they’re ready for their checks.

“One check,” Andrew says. “I’ll take it.” Annie freezes around her last bite, too late to stop the waiter from walking away.

“Andrew, you don’t have to—” she begins.

“I was late to our fake date,” he explains, taking his wallet out of his pocket. “It’s only fair that I pay for our fake date.” Annie lets out a disbelieving little laugh.

“I can’t believe you…” It’s so fond-sounding…he doesn’t really know what to say in response, so he just smiles.

He pays, leaves a generous tip (the second of the night) and stands up, waiting for Annie as she picks up her purse and her tulip and stands. They make for the front door.

“Did you drive here?” she asks.

“No, I took a Lyft,” he says.

“Ah. Same.”

“…wanna share one?” he offers, reaching the front door just a little before her, so he can hold it open for her.

“Such a gentleman,” she says, stepping through the doorway, nudging him gently as she passes him.

“For holding the door or offering to share a ride home?” he asks, catching up to her.

“A little of column A, a little of column B,” she answers. “…but sure. Sharing a Lyft would be lovely.”

“Cool. I’ll put in the order.”

As Andrew pulls up the Lyft app to find a driver, he glances up at Annie every now and again, A soft breeze catches in her hair, ruffles it gently. She glances in its direction, and Andrew notices a slight shiver.

“A little colder than it was when I got here,” she comments. Andrew, finishing up the order for the Lyft and receiving a notification that a driver is on the way, tucks his phone back into his pocket before unbuttoning his blazer and slipping it off.

“Here,” he says, stepping behind Annie and draping it over her shoulders. She reaches up for it to keep it from falling to the ground, and looks over her shoulder at him.

He’s standing close enough to her that when she thanks him, he can feel her breath ghost across his skin. Before he can do something stupid (like kiss her and ruin everything), he nods and takes a step away, more to her side. She slips her arms through the sleeves and holds her arms out, as if to say “ta-da” at the new thing she’s wearing.

God, but she looks good in his clothes.

The Lyft is there sooner rather than later, Andrew opening the door and letting Annie slide into the back seat first. As he buckles his seat belt, he informs the driver that they’ll be going to one house, then another. The driver nods and pulls away from the curb, turning on to the next street towards Annie’s place.

“Oof…that wine’s beginning to really kick in…” Annie sighs with a little laugh. “The soporific effect, anyway. Wine always makes me a little sleepy.”

“And yet you still bust out words like ‘soporific’,” Andrew quips. Annie giggles.

“That’s me. An enigma wrapped in a mystery wrapped in your blazer.”

All Andrew can do is laugh because she’s just so cute. She sighs again and leans her head back against the seat. At a certain turn, gravity pulls her in the direction of him, and her head lands on his shoulder. She’s about to lift it away when he pats her wrist.

“It’s okay,” Andrew assures her. “I’m told I make a good pillow.”

“By who?” she asks.

“People.”

“Hmm.” She doesn’t really respond to the nonsensical answer to her question. Rather, she leans more into him, nestling her head between his neck and his shoulder.

“She’s an idiot,” she murmurs.

“Hmm?”

“The girl who stood you up,” Annie explains. Her eyes aren’t closed, but she doesn’t look at him as she speaks. “This was…really nice. A really nice night. You’re a great first date, and she missed out. You’re…”

Her words trail off. He’s almost tempted to ask her to continue.

“Well…a fake date is better than a failed date, I guess,” he says, like an idiot.

“It was a really good fake date, though,” she adds.

“…yeah…it was.”

There’s a bit of a silence after that. A contemplative silence. Like…not everything was said, but at the same time, a LOT was said.

Andrew’s not drunk. He’s got more tolerance than to get sloshed after one glass of wine. But that one glass is enough to…embolden him. That, or possibly make him stupider.

“Would you maybe want to do this for real some time?” he asks her. She lifts her head to look at him. The sober, rational part of him is SCREAMING to look away, apologize, and say “never mind”. But he keeps his eyes locked on hers, to show her he’s serious in what he’s asked her.

And when she smiles, whispers, “I’d like that,” and tucks her head into the crook of his neck again, it’s all he can do not to smile like an idiot.

That is, until he feels a hand brush against his, fumble to press her palm to his and lace their fingers. Then he DOES smile like an idiot.

It’s not long before they’re pulling up in front of Annie’s place. Andrew unbuckles his seat belt and opens his door, helping Annie slide across the seats and step out of the car (if only to hold her hand a little longer). He tells the driver he’s going to walk her up to her front door, but he’ll be right back.

“So…tonight was fun,” Annie says, looking down at the tulip she carries.

“It was. I had a good time.”

“Not what I expected to happen when I got there, but…” She looks down at the flower cradles in her hand. “Much better than I anticipated.”

“Yeah.” He couldn’t have put it any better.

“I guess I should give you your blazer back,” she says when they reach the front step.

“No, no, you can keep it for now,” Andrew says. “Give it back to me next time.” She scrunches up her nose and shrugs it off regardless.

“No, I insist,” she says, handing it to him. He takes it, draping it over his arm as she digs her keys out of her purse. Once they’re tucked into the same hand as the tulip, she looks back up at him. “Well…”

“We’ll plan something for real for next time,” Andrew says. She nods. “See you at work?” She nods again. Before he can turn to walk back towards the Lyft, he pauses, in case there’s anything else she wants to say. She’s biting her lip as though holding something back.

And then, she steps forward, cups a hand to his cheek, and kisses him.

It’s unexpected, soft, sweet, and tastes like burnt sugar and cream. Before he can respond in kind, pull her into his arms, she breaks the kiss (but not before he SWEARS he feels a sweep of her tongue against his lips). She bites her lip again, smiles. and with another quick press of her lips against his, a “good night” whispered against them, her hand is gone from his cheek, and she’s unlocking the door and stepping inside, looking back on him with one last smile before the door closes.

He walks back to the waiting Lyft in something of a daze. The driver is thankfully kind enough not to comment on his stupid lovestruck self. (Either that, or the driver just wasn’t paying attention to anything happening at the doorstep.)

So…his hopeless crush wasn’t so hopeless after all.

He’s never been so happy to have been stood up for a date in his life.

**Author's Note:**

> feedback welcome and appreciated.


End file.
